Surrender Unto Caesar
by Amory Vain
Summary: To the victor go the spoils. Caesar/Brutus; warnings for dubious consent and nonexplicit rough sex.
1. Surrender Unto Caesar

**Surrender Unto Caesar [[580 Words]]**  
_Rome_  
Caesar/Brutus  
Set post 1.07  
Dubious consent. Non-explicit, rough sex.

* * *

At Caesar's calling Brutus came to him that night, tent flap rustling as the guard pulled it aside to allow him entry. He waited as Caesar waved his servants away, silent and unflinching when the man approached and raised a hand to his face. He let himself be touched, unmoving as a statue—slender Icarus, perhaps, burned by his ambitions but immortalized in stone all the same.

"Oh, Brutus." He caressed the man's smooth skin, smudged with common dirt mere hours before, and ran a thumb across the slight, questioning frown, tangled fingers in his tunic and jerked him close. If Brutus was surprised by the motion, he didn't show it, so Caesar brushed lips against his temple and spoke. "You've come back to me."

Then, finally, as he was sure they'd both been expecting, he pressed a hard kiss directly to that rebellious mouth, wet and insistent until Brutus opened in surrender. Growled and tore at his tunic to bare that slight, firm form to his eyes and hands—possessing, conquering. "Brutus," he touched his lips to that vulnerable throat, feeling the pulse flutter beneath his mouth as he spoke, voice thick with an emotion he couldn't bring himself to identify. "My _son_. You'll defy me no longer, will you.

"No, of course not." He pulled back to look at him, watching as Brutus shifted and allowed the loose folds of his robes to fall to the ground in unspoken acceptance of the inevitable. The man had never looked so tired, so weak. _Broken_, Caesar couldn't help but think.

So he took the opportunity then to be magnanimous, tucking fingers beneath that frail chin and tilting his face up till their eyes locked. "And I forgive you, you know that. But you would kiss my feet now, if I asked it—you'd drop to your knees and abase yourself."

"Yes." Brutus spoke at last, voice rough-edged but sincere, penitent. Tears shone on his lashes, unshed; the image was pleasing, somehow—it pooled in the pit of his stomach, low and hot. Brutus trembled, reached but hesitated to touch, hands hovering inches from Caesar's shoulders before they dropped again to his sides. "Yes."

"But I would not require this. I've _told_ you I forgive you." He smiled, too many teeth, not quite gentle, and continued. "Such is my forgiveness. See, I kneel for _you_."

Brutus' intake of breath was sharp and overloud when Caesar fell to his knees, grip a vice on the man's bare hips. He _wanted_ to bruise, stain his body purple like the victory robes he would wear in Rome. Let Brutus wear Caesar's colors for a while, too.

Let him look on his flesh and remember Caesar's tongue, slick and hot at the juncture of hip and thigh, making him clench fists and shudder, breath harsh and uneven like sobbing. He took him into his mouth and relished the low groan as surrender, more honest a repentance than any oath. Brutus was _his_.

His, laid out beneath him in his bed, bent and submitting to his Caesar's will once again.

His, silent but shaking as he drove fingers into him, slicked with oil but not gentle. Brutus took it all without protest, penitent, forehead pressed to the blankets and nails biting red crescents into his palms.

Penetrating him, slow and deliberate, Caesar mouthed words into each of his shoulderblades, blessings and forgivenesses against the damp skin. Brutus spoke no more, but the music of his choked-off moans was enough.


	2. What Is Caesar's

**What Is Caesar's [[174 Words]]**  
_Rome_  
Brutus/Caesar  
1.08, set post-_Surrender Unto Caesar_.  
Angst. Implied past dub-con.

* * *

His mother watched him through narrowed eyes, guarded as though she could smell it on him, the evidence of his debasement at Caesar's hand. His shame, hers by extension. She could hardly look at him. _Rightly so_, he couldn't help thinking as he reached for her, entreating. _Rightly so_.

He'd returned home like a kicked dog, ears back and tail tucked between his legs. Like a runaway slave, beaten and branded for his crimes. He could almost feel the marks now, still livid round his hips. He ached inside, remembering the pain of movement, the hardship of endeavoring to keep his gait normal as he'd walked through camp echoing now as he stepped forward. "Mother."

Finally, reluctantly, she touched him, light and fleeting where Caesar had been possessive, rough and lingering. She touched him like he disgusted her, like she wished to deny any familiarity with the form beneath her fingers. _He_'d touched him to prove ownership, a _Dominus_ to his slave.

No matter. For all the contrast, Brutus was worth nothing either way.


End file.
